


Overflow

by orphan_account



Category: Over the Garden Wall
Genre: Gen, Omorashi, wirt is a peebaby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not pissing in a bottle, Beatrice. Even I have standards, you know." That was gross. Just imagine that old guy opening up his armoire and finding a bottle full of some kid's urine. Ugh. "I can wait."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overflow

**Author's Note:**

> for aloevera-pee on tumblr xoxo

Of course this had to happen. Of course the armoire wouldn't open. Of course he had to pee, and of course Beatrice was here with him.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting here, or how long it would be until his friends got back, but he really, really wanted them to hurry up. He wasn't really sure how long he could hold it, and he didn't really want to end up with wet trousers. Being in a compromising situation with Beatrice was bad enough already.

But hey, here he was, in a pitch black armoire, shifting in the enclosed space and mildly concerned about whether he needed to start the desperate prayers yet. _Sweet Lord Almighty, I will never tell another lie if you let me get out of this without pissing myself._

By the time another five minutes had passed, he had his legs crossed and he was already starting to worry. He couldn't hold it much longer, he couldn't do it. Beatrice had probably caught on by now, she was probably thinking about how much of a wuss he was. Crud, his bladder was full to bursting.

"Wirt?" Speak of the devil.

"Um." Oh God, here it comes, she's going to laugh at him and probably tell Greg that his older brother is a huge pissbaby, yep, he's already dying a little inside.

"There's a bottle over in this corner."

"I'm not pissing in a bottle, Beatrice. Even I have standards, you know." That was gross. Just imagine that old guy opening up his armoire and finding a bottle full of some kid's urine. Ugh. "I can wait."

Beatrice doesn't say anything after that, leaving the stuffy space with an awkward, almost mocking silence.

When will they be back? He can't do this anymore, this is awful, and the silence seems to drag on forever. There's nothing to distract him from his throbbing bladder in the darkness, and it feels like it's been an hour— he knows it's been five minutes at the most.

"I– I'm using the bottle," he mumbles, slowly leaning over to try and grab for it. The armoire isn't very big, he knows, and he finds it in a few seconds. And slowly, he struggles to lean back, choking back a sob when it throbs again. Beatrice is still quiet, but he can hear her talons scuffing the ground, and in a momentary lack of focus he can feel urine leak out of him.

It feels _fucking amazing_ , and he's almost tempted to let it go right there.

But he doesn't.

"I don't, I don't know if I can do this," he groans, clasping the bottle in one hand.

"It's not like I can see you or anything! Just, you know. Pee in it. Then we can move on with our lives."

"A little moral support would be nice."

"Yeah, no. I don't want anything to do with this."

Resigned, he scoots into his corner, and shoves the bottle between his knees, using his newly free hand to slip off his suspenders and tug down his pants. He can feel the stain on his boxers as another spurt escapes him, a brief release that makes him barely keep himself from moaning.

He's so messed up, he thinks, his fingers trembling as he adjusts the bottle, aims and lets go. And frick, does it feel great.

He tries not to focus on the sound of piss hitting glass, or the hot feeling that begins to stir in his stomach as the bottle grows heavier and warmer. And, well, he relishes in the blissful sensation. Beatrice and Greg and the rest of his worries are all more of a far-off thing right now.

Except when he's a little fuller than he thought. He jerks his leg as the first splash of urine overflows from the bottle, soaking the backs of his thighs, and the bottle falls from between his knees.

Thankfully, it doesn't shatter, but his face pales as over half of it splashes out over him, as he presses a hand to his crotch, as the stream doesn't stop, oh no this is awful this was a terrible idea.

He can only ignore the tears as he soaks his trousers and the wooden floor in his own piss, choking out a sob as the stream dies down, and finally slows to a stop. And for a moment, he just sits there, absolutely mortified.

He just pissed himself.

He's only vaguely aware of his avian pal belting out a few backhanded insults, hanging his head.

It did feel pretty good, though.


End file.
